A life without joy
is a life of entitlement.
I see purity
in those who give thanks
for the most basic of things.
are we so entitled,
so spoiled,
that we awake with anything other than the most humble and deep of gratitude
that we have a heartbeat?
have we forgotten how precious any of this is.
Each one of your senses
is capable of delivering divinity.
the mystic wonder
of a leaf on a tree
should be enough
to send me into ecstasy.
I thank the divine, the source, whatever it is, whomever,
for allowing me to simply be alive on this planet.
how could I have ever taken any of this for granted?
I hoot and I holler
For having food in my belly!
I squeal in delight
that I have friends
who check in now and then
to make sure I’m alright.
a dad who says I love you —
I must be the luckiest man alive.
A mother who would give her life for me–
what did I do to deserve this?
books!
food!
grass!
sunshine.
music.
this is paradise. why do we place heaven as a reward for after this life when it’s so clearly here for the taking?
I have everything I need —
perhaps my highest prayer
is not for something elsewhere,
but to always remember what’s right in front of me.
the grass is green everywhere,
here, there, past, present, future.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 